


That’s why I bring you down (so there’s no place to go but up)

by Finduilas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3.07, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Coda, Derek Hale Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, coda to 3.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/pseuds/Finduilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He finds him in the bathroom adjacent to one of the bedrooms, running his hands under the steady stream of the tap. Derek’s hands are clean, save for a few scratches, and Stiles wonders how many times he’s washed off Boyd’s blood since Stiles left the loft earlier. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“I told you to go away,” Derek says, without looking up in the mirror to meet Stiles’ eyes. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	That’s why I bring you down (so there’s no place to go but up)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Qhuinn for discussing the fic with me, and to ChasingShadows for the Beta! 
> 
> Title from _Happiness_ , by World Without Sundays
> 
> The amazing Bubbles made [this gorgeous gif set for it](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/56468756024/stileslovesderek-fics-in-gif-thats-why-i)!

He’s not quite sure what happens with Boyd’s body by the time Stiles is meeting up with Scott. Or how they even explained any of it to Ms Blake. In a way, he can’t really bring himself to care.

The relief that Deaton is alive washes away from Scott’s face when Stiles tells him about Boyd. There’s a lot of “but how?” and “but couldn’t they have!”s from Scott, until he finally just falls quiet and accepts it when Stiles says that Derek and Isaac did everything they could.

“I think your dad suspects,” Scott tells him, and Stiles feels so numb he can only nod.

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Scott says, “He said he wanted to be like me.”

Stiles nods, as Scott adds the unnecessary, “Boyd…”

“I know it sounds stupid…” Stiles shrugs. “But I’m kind of glad him and Erica found each other. You know, before.”

“A lot of good it did them,” Scott says bitterly, but Stiles can see him blinking away wet eyes.

Stiles wants to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. It’s all so surreal.

“At least now they don’t have to go on without each other,” Scott says, and there’s a wet streak across his cheek.

“That’s a really depressing thought, buddy,” Stiles says with a choked off huff – somewhere between a morbid snort and a sob – as he feels his eyes sting.

Scott tries half a smile and nods. Maybe it isn’t after all.

***

By the time he makes it back to Derek’s loft, it’s empty, save for Derek and the large pool of water. He’s not quite sure what happened with Boyd’s body, but it isn’t where Stiles last saw it, with Cora hunched over it. His feet are drenched as he warily steps forward, slushing through the water.

It’s the “Go away, Stiles” that betrays Derek’s position, and Stiles gingerly walks up the spiral staircase, towards Derek’s voice.

He finds him in the bathroom adjacent to one of the bedrooms, running his hands under the steady stream of the tap. Derek’s hands are clean, save for a few scratches, and Stiles wonders how many times he’s washed off Boyd’s blood since Stiles left the loft earlier.

“I told you to go away,” Derek says, without looking up in the mirror to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m not good at taking orders,” Stiles says, and he looks back at the bedroom behind him. He wonders if the mattress on the floor belonged to Isaac. If Cora sleeps there now.

“Get the fuck out,” Derek says as he shoves past Stiles roughly, the same shoulder he put a comforting hand on earlier now nearly pushing him into the wall.

“Where is everyone?” Stiles asks, standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, watching as Derek tries hard not to fall apart.

“They listened when I told them to get the fuck out!” Derek says coarsely.

“I’m not that easily fooled,” Stiles says, taking in the sight of the man in front of him.

Derek’s hair is still humid, toweled out of submission. He’s shed the blood and water soaked clothes, and put on dry ones, except for shoes. Derek’s bare toes are digging into the carpet. The same carpet that Stiles is drenching with his wet shoes.

“I don’t want your help,” Derek says, through gritted teeth.

“You need someone’s,” Stiles counters, and there’s a flare of anger passing over Derek’s face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Scott?” Derek spits out.

“Scott is with Allison,” Stiles says, because the lines between broken up and together get faded when facing a tragedy.

“You’re not my Allison,” Derek says, finally meeting Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles isn’t quite sure what he sees in Derek’s eyes, but he’s pretty adamant that he doesn’t want to leave Derek alone right now. He doesn’t even need the memory of Scott at the motel to see the vast amount of guilt resting on Derek’s shoulders.

“Why can’t you all just stay away from me?” Derek asks, his voice a frustrated rumble. “Do you all have a death wish?” His fingers are clenched besides his body, flexing every now and again.

“You’re not to blam – ” Stiles starts, but stops short as Derek grabs the pillow from the mattress and hurls it straight at Stiles in a fit of rage.

“Don’t you dare!” Derek yells, the pillow hitting Stiles square in the chest, soundlessly falling to the ground.

There’s a glass bottle on the floor next to the mattress, closer to Derek’s reach, untouched.

“If you think you can push me away, you’re dead wrong,” Stiles says sharply, not even sorry for his choice of words.

“Then you’re a stupid son of a bitch,” Derek grits through his teeth, taking a few steps closer to nearly spit the words in Stiles’ face.

“And you’re a stubborn asshole,” Stiles barks back, his head held high as he looks Derek straight in the eyes, “But I’m still not leaving.”

There’s a twitching movement that makes Stiles think for one split second that maybe Derek is going to punch him in the face, but it’s like something snaps and midway through Derek bringing his hand up, he’s changed his mind, and the hand clasps roughly at the side of Stiles’ neck and then Derek is crushing his lips against Stiles’. It’s almost bruising, and their teeth clash for a second as Stiles opens his mouth underneath Derek’s. Stiles’ fingers grip into the front of Derek’s shirt, pulling him close, as Derek’s other hand grips his shoulder just this side of painful. But Stiles tugs sharply at the fabric of Derek’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as he drags his tongue over Derek’s, hungrily taking everything Derek has to give.

Derek makes a sound, a rumbling whine low in the back of his throat, vibrating into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles releases his grip on Derek’s shirt, instead snaking his arms around Derek’s back, pushing himself flat against Derek’s chest. He thinks he’s trembling slightly, until he realizes it’s Derek, and Stiles wants to say something but he’s too busy trying to keep up with Derek’s kiss.

Derek pulls his head away then, just long enough for his mouth to latch onto Stiles’ neck. There are teeth scraping along Stiles’ jawline, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if maybe he should be afraid of Derek getting carried away, but then a tongue replaces the sting of the teeth, laving over Stiles’ skin.

“Ah,” Stiles says, fingertips digging into the muscles of Derek’s back, and then Derek is swinging them around, pushing Stiles down on the mattress. They break contact for a second, as Stiles’ back hits the mattress, and then Derek is plastered on top of him.

Derek bites down on Stiles’ bottom lip, not unpleasantly, before running his tongue along  the line of Stiles’ lips. Stiles is not sure if it’s meant as a request for his permission, but he opens up either way, eagerly inviting Derek’s tongue back into his mouth. There’s a very faint taste of blood and sweat, but mostly there’s the taste of Derek, and Stiles can’t help but find it quite intoxicating.

Derek’s hands are tracing underneath Stiles’ shirt, fingernails scraping and sometimes digging slightly into his skin. Derek rolls his hips down, right on top of Stiles’, and there’s a hard line against the crease of Stiles’ hip. Stiles is completely hard as well, the weight of Derek’s vast body reassuringly on top of him, Derek’s lips on his.

When Derek pulls away slightly, Stiles seeks out his eyes to find them glimmering with unshed tears. Derek’s hand comes up to Stiles’ cheek, his thumb rubbing over Stiles’ bottom lip, before pressing down his lips to replace it.

“It’s okay,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s mouth, and he isn’t quite sure what exactly is supposed to be okay, but Derek nods anyway, burying his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck as he grinds down his hips, aligning both their cocks, only separated by their clothing.

Derek’s knee nudges its way in between Stiles’ legs, and he pushes up, eliciting a moan from Stiles with the friction is creates. Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ hips, pulling him up to meet his hastening thrusts.

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispers again, and as Derek rubs his face against Stiles’ neck, he can feel it come away wet.

Derek lets out a choked off sob before he captures Stiles in another frantic kiss. There’s a familiar tightening in Stiles’ balls, as Derek keeps thrusting his hips down, each push sending spikes of pleasure up Stiles’ spine. Stiles’ hands roam over the back of Derek’s body, caressing over his shoulder blades, encouraging the rhythm of Derek’s hips.

“Oh God,” Stiles mutters, and he’s not even sure Derek hears him, but that’s alright.

But then Derek grunts, snapping his hips down, grinding his cock against Stiles’ in one more long drag, and Derek stills against Stiles’ body, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck again, his mouth open against Stiles’ skin. And Stiles knows that Derek just came, and he squirms underneath Derek’s body, bringing a hand down between the two and them and palming himself over his pants. It’s all it takes for Stiles to follow suit, dragging out a long moan as he reaches his climax.

There’s the sound of heavy breathing filling the air, and the unmistaken scent of sweat and sex. His boxers cling uncomfortably to his skin, but Stiles makes no effort to move from Derek’s grasp, instead bringing his hand up to rub carefully in the hair at the back of Derek’s head as he feels Derek’s eyelashes flutter against the skin of his neck.

Derek doesn’t say a word, like he hasn’t all this time, but he presses a kiss on Stiles’ lips, his eyes closed but wet.

Stiles isn’t quite sure when Derek falls asleep, his head resting on Stiles’ shoulder, exhaustion finally taken over, but Stiles simply tightens his arms around Derek’s frame and closes his eyes.

There’s a physical and emotional fulfillment deep inside Stiles’ body that stands in sheer contrast with the overwhelming sadness he feels when his mind fills itself with thoughts of Boyd.

***

When Stiles wakes up, there’s a vast emptiness beside him. His boxers are sticking to his skin, his feet are uncomfortable and itchy inside almost dried shoes, and Derek is nowhere to be seen.

Stiles groans as he sits upright on the mattress, looking around for a sign of Derek. He closes his eyes for a second, thinking of how maybe this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured this going. He represses thoughts of Derek doing anything stupid – well, stupider than usual – because he convinces himself that he would _know_.

“Derek?” Stiles asks as he reaches the spiral staircase, looking down on the shallow pool that is Derek’s loft.

There’s no answer.

Stiles sighs as he walks down, hesitating for a second when he reaches the last dry step, before setting his foot firmly in the water again. The loft is empty, the giant triskele on the window a gruesome reminder of what went down here last night.

He looks at the spot where he last saw Boyd. He tries hard not to think of Erica, but fails miserably.

As he slushes through the water towards the front door, he wonders where Derek is.

***

Derek manages to avoid Stiles for a whole day and a half, until Scott gets Isaac to spill the beans and admit he went back to the old Hale house.

Stiles knows Derek hears him long before he pushes open the door with a screech, Scott’s claw marks still visible in the paint.

“Didn’t the County take this place?” Stiles asks into thin air, knowing Derek will hear him anyway.

There’s a beat of silence before Derek appears from behind one of the scorched walls and says, “They haven’t started the demolition yet.”

Stiles doesn’t even want to think about how everything Derek has gets taken away from him.

“You can fix up the loft again, you know,” Stiles says, decidedly ignoring the way Derek avoids looking at him. “You just need to have the water pumped away. Treat the floor again…”

Derek just walks past him, keeping his distance.

“Waterproof it…” Stiles mutters.

Derek doesn’t speak, just stares at the burned out wall in front of him.

“Unless, of course, you don’t want to live in a place with those kinds of memories,” Stiles says, eyeing the house surrounding them – or what’s left of it – and he wonders if it’s even possible for Derek to ever feel at home somewhere ever again. “You can always find yourself something else.”

“Go away, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice almost a sigh.

“I feel like we’ve had that conversation before,” Stiles says, and he knows that Derek can hear his heart beat almost out of his chest, but he’s putting on a brave front anyway. “And look where that went.”

“Yeah, well, sleeping with you didn’t make Boyd any less dead, now did it?” Derek spits out, and Stiles tries hard not to recoil back as if he’d been slapped in the face.

“You know, being an insensitive asshole isn’t going to make me go away,” Stiles says instead, his jaw clenched. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“What do you want from me, Stiles?” Derek asks, and Stiles can see he’s still exhausted to the bone. “Is it an apology? Fine, I apologize for doing that to you – ”

“Why would I want an apology?” Stiles asks, frowning.

“I know what I did to you, alright?” Derek says. “Jesus Christ, were you even… That was your first time, wasn’t it?” 

And the look on Derek’s face is horrified, and Stiles is slowly beginning to understand that it’s not for his own sake, but for what he thinks he did to Stiles.

“I don’t know what it is that you think you did to me,” Stiles says slowly, deliberately. “Actually, no, I think I have a pretty good idea now, but I need you to listen to me.”

“Stiles – ” Derek starts, exasperated.

“No, you’re going to listen to me,” Stiles says, and he thinks his voice must have conveyed enough determination to at least get Derek’s full attention.

“Boyd isn’t any less dead because of what we did,” Stiles confirms, and it still stings to think of, “But I can at least hope that it offered you a tiny bit of comfort. And you know what? I sure as hell felt more comfort being with you than from sitting alone in my room, thinking of Boyd’s dead body in a pool of water, alright?”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Derek says, shaking his head slightly.

“You weren’t alone. You didn’t do anything stupid. I’d say it changed a lot,” Stiles counters.

“So, what?” Derek asks, with a huff. “You slept with me so I wouldn’t go out and kill the rest of my pack? Or myself?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a stubborn ass,” Stiles sighs. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not that selfless, alright? And you can be offhand about it all you want, but we both know there’s more to it than that. And if you can’t deal with what happened between us, then you at least need to deal with Boyd’s death, and with what’s left of your pack.”

“That’s not a whole lot,” Derek says.

“I think there’s more than you think, but you just don’t want to see it,” Stiles says.

Derek lets out a sigh, tilts his head back to look around as if he’s contemplating what to do next.

“I don’t need to live in the place where he died to live with those kinds of memories,” Derek finally says, and Stiles nearly lets out a breath of relief at Derek finally opening up.

“I know,” Stiles says, softly, carefully. “I just hope that his death is not the only thing you’ll remember of him. Of them.”

Derek nods, and Stiles thinks that maybe it’s a silent promise to work on it.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, eventually.

“I told you that I didn’t want an apology –” Stiles starts, but Derek cuts him off, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry for leaving before you woke up,” Derek says, and his eyes meet Stiles’.

“Oh,” Stiles says, his lips forming a perfect “o” as he stares at Derek.

“You’d never…” Derek hesitates, “And, it was a crappy thing to do.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do it again,” Stiles shrugs, as if he’s trying to make light of the situation, until he realizes what his words might imply.

Derek nods again, and Stiles worries his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to stop himself from saying…

“’Cause that’s never gonna happen again, right?” Stiles says anyway, his eyes everywhere but Derek, “Because you were at an all-time low and otherwise you wouldn’t have… Not with me. I mean…”

“Stiles,” Derek says, his hand on Stiles’ shoulder to stop the rambling.

Stiles looks up, meets Derek’s eyes.

“I’m thinking maybe in the future I could be a little less self-absorbed and pay you some more attention,” Derek says, and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he thinks he might see a blush on Derek’s cheeks.

Stiles’ face breaks open in a tentative smile, and he says, “I don’t mind taking care of you.”

Derek nods, and softly brushes his lips against Stiles’, before wrapping his arms around him protectively and burying his face in the now familiar crook of Stiles’ neck. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and closes his eyes, letting the tension seep out of his body.

He isn’t entirely sure but he thinks he hears Derek’s murmur, “Maybe we can take care of each other.” 


End file.
